SCHNEIZEL ♔ 002;
Who: Schneizel el Britannia and Suzaku Kururugi
Where: Espoir
Style: Third
Status: Closed
One of the most jarring things about this whole situation, Schneizel mused, was how vastly different it was to what he'd known merely hours before. The gleaming metal of Damocles was a far cry from this quaint little village, some relic of a lost time nestled within the cityscape he was more used to. Nunnally had had her garden, jewel-bright flowers and gilded fencing and a thousand white butterflies, all trapped under a dome of glass. This was similar, he supposed, a novelty amidst the mundane, but when he looked up at the sky there was no gleam of sunlight on a glass roof.
But he was still imprisoned, wasn't he? And for how long, none could tell him. The timing was atrocious, in truth - he'd been so close, so close that to be ripped from it now (ripped from war, from the victory his fingers had been closing around, from what he'd been striving to achieve his entire life) left an odd, vague sort of ache, the weight he carried growing heavier.
It did not mean loss, however. He was a man of reason and logic before faith, but this was simply how things would be. And nothing would stand before that. It was an interlude, he told himself, and believed it without any sort of delusion - in fact, it was proving to be an interesting one. Much as he disliked having so little knowledge of the way the board was set, he couldn't deny an abstract interest, almost as if he were a spectator.
And besides - the blanks would be filled in time. He was patient.
Calm, placid, but perhaps a little distracted, he waited.
Where: Espoir
Style: Third
Status: Closed
One of the most jarring things about this whole situation, Schneizel mused, was how vastly different it was to what he'd known merely hours before. The gleaming metal of Damocles was a far cry from this quaint little village, some relic of a lost time nestled within the cityscape he was more used to. Nunnally had had her garden, jewel-bright flowers and gilded fencing and a thousand white butterflies, all trapped under a dome of glass. This was similar, he supposed, a novelty amidst the mundane, but when he looked up at the sky there was no gleam of sunlight on a glass roof.
But he was still imprisoned, wasn't he? And for how long, none could tell him. The timing was atrocious, in truth - he'd been so close, so close that to be ripped from it now (ripped from war, from the victory his fingers had been closing around, from what he'd been striving to achieve his entire life) left an odd, vague sort of ache, the weight he carried growing heavier.
It did not mean loss, however. He was a man of reason and logic before faith, but this was simply how things would be. And nothing would stand before that. It was an interlude, he told himself, and believed it without any sort of delusion - in fact, it was proving to be an interesting one. Much as he disliked having so little knowledge of the way the board was set, he couldn't deny an abstract interest, almost as if he were a spectator.
And besides - the blanks would be filled in time. He was patient.
Calm, placid, but perhaps a little distracted, he waited.